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It all started when, out of the goodness of his heart, he exchanged notebooks with Ginny. He had lived with handouts for years and could handle a few more, while Ginny at the time of Lucius Malfoy humiliating her family looked on the verge of tears.
His protective instincts reared its ugly head and Harry had felt compelled to comfort the little girl. It wasn’t much to ask, to give her a brand-new notebook while taking the one that was so rudely thrust upon her by Malfoy.
And with that done, he went to Hogwarts with all his belongings and a simple, leather-clad black notebook in his pocket. Not giving it much thought, it stayed in his suitcase for a good three weeks before he suddenly remembered something, wanted to write it down and couldn’t find any parchment.
While digging through his trunk it almost magically fell into his hands and he suddenly felt it was extremely important to use it. Sitting on his bed, he took out his quill and quickly jotted down some notes about potions. Years later, he would think back on this moment with bitterness. If only he hadn’t been so arrogant to believe he knew enough about enchanted objects to play around with one without supervision. If only he had gone to a teacher to ask about it. If only he hadn’t been so bloody naïve.
But he, predictably, did none of those things, and when the notebook started writing back to him, he gleefully engaged. And engaging he was, that Tom Riddle. He loved the attention Tom gave him, his wit, loved that he belonged only to him. Loved having something that he didn’t have to share, for once in his life.
Tom taught him so much. He had always had that streak of egotism in him, that streak of rebellion that caused him to detest the rigorous schooling that Hogwarts demanded; the constant essays about the dullest topics, the mandatory attendance in classes that weren’t interesting or useful at all. It had made him restless. Reckless.
And here was Tom, engaging his every whim, seeming to enjoy any and every conversation with him. Encouraging him to venture out beyond the curriculum. Nudging him in the direction of new, unexplored fields of magic.
Tom loved hearing about the newest gossip of Gryffindor Tower, so he became good at listening. He loved giving his opinion on the newest developments in Transfigurations, Arithmancy, Charms, so Harry read papers that he only half understood.
In return, Tom divulged so much more than any of the teachers at Hogwarts had ever given him. He was brilliant.
After being ensnared in this manner, he didn’t mind when he started to demand his attention more and more, when he demanded him to keep secrets from his friends, tell no one about him, their little secret. Harry didn’t mind when he wanted to borrow his body - readily agreed in fact. He had been so tired of Hogwarts, of constantly trying to live up to the expectations of everyone around him. What did it matter if, for a few hours, Tom lived out his desires in the real world?
No one noticed either.
No one. Not Dumbledore. Not Snape. Not Ron or Hermione. Was he this replaceable, that irrelevant as a person rather than a symbol, that being possessed by a younger version of Voldemort was beneath the notice of everybody? He would grow bitter over this, in the coming years. And though he would never say a single word that stated anything contrary to complete forgiveness, the resentment would never leave.
Maybe it was him trying to justify himself after the fact, but he imagined that as much as a Horcrux can be fond of anything, it was fond of him. In a way that was closer to being fond of a particularly beautiful vase, or an exotic animal that could be shown off to friends and foes alike. Seeing as no one had ever gone out of their way to show him any affection, it had been enough.
And he would never tell a soul how he found out about the basilisk, the chamber, the attacks, and still let Tom do whatever he pleased, because these students were by this point just distant shadows in his mind, and Tom was real, present and more important to him than anybody.
Tom was so pleased. In their time in Tom’s memories, his mind scape that slowly turned from Tom's prison into his, Tom was kind. He got increasingly affectionate, the more time he spent in Harry’s body. As the year progressed, Tom became a constant companion in his mind, whispering to him. It was relaxing. All the worries in the world couldn’t touch Harry with the protection of Tom. They melded together in a way that even years later, could not be undone completely.
And he had apologized to Harry. Profusely. He told him he regretted that his ascension would erase him, but that it had to be done. Harry smiled at him tiredly, lying in the chamber in his own blood, waiting for his mind to be erased. ‘It’s okay,’ he said.
He had stroked Harry’s hair gently, promising that he would never forget him, that he would always be a part of him, something greater. Harry believed him. As he always had. When Ron and Hermione came bursting into the hall, killing the basilisk, he looked on groggily. He was so tired, so so tired. When could he go to sleep? He made a noise of protest when Hermione shook him and begged him to wake up. He could vaguely hear Tom and her talking, but would not be able to remember the words.
Then, Hermione drove a basilisk tooth into his precious notebook, and Harry screamed. He screamed in pain, in loss, in confusion. It felt like his mind was being ripped into two.
After being transported to St. Mungos, the Headmaster visited him. So did the Weasleys with Ron in tow, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, some of his friends from school, several Aurors who demanded to know what had happened and absurdly, one Lucius Malfoy with a sour looking Draco in tow, who had clenched his jaw tightly at his father’s well-wishes.
Lying always had come easily to him, and it did so then as well. He didn’t remember. He hadn’t been awake for any of the atrocities committed. Of course, he would never have gone along willingly with any of these attacks. Of course not. No, he had no memories of Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Tom would have been proud.
A traumatized 12-year-old, lying in a too big hospital bed, looking emaciated and weak? No one questioned him any further.
When a year later it turned out that he could still talk to snakes, could still produce magic that was far beyond the teachings of Hogwarts, not in difficulty but in ethics, was still prone to emotional manipulation and violence, their faces changed from pity to back to caution. It was determined that the diary had left a ‘magical imprint on him’. His character and magic had forever been changed by the encounter.
He took the news with grace. Tom had promised he would never leave him, and in a way, he kept his promise.